Red Ink
by OhEyal
Summary: At the sound of the brusque request, I glanced up from the mortar and pestle I was currently using to make blue ink. I was not expecting a man as young as the one in front of me to be the owner of such a voice. Perhaps it was not the voice, but the tone. (OCxMalik)
1. Part I

_Hello! This is my first story. I've been reading everyone else's for a long time, and I thought it was time to try myself. Please give me feedback? I'd like to know what you think!_ ~OhEyal

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**Part I**

"I need red ink."

At the sound of the brusque request, I glanced up from the mortar and pestle I was currently using to make blue ink. I was not expecting a man as young as the one in front of me to be the owner of such a voice. Perhaps it was not the voice, but the tone. He could not be much older than me, yet he wore the robes of a scholar. His dark almost black hair was a little unruly, and he was in need of a shave.

"Of course," I replied, politely as I could, and set down my tools to find a bottle of red ink. "I have two shades." I held out the two bottles, one a deep red, the color of an old wine, and the other a bright red, like fresh blood. "Do you have a preference?"

The man frowned for a moment at the two bottles before pointing to the brighter one. "That will suffice."

"Do you need anything else? Quills or other colors perhaps?"

"No," he grunted and dropped coins on the counter.

I had not even given him a price. I glanced down at the coins and shook my head. He was giving too much for a small bottle of ink. I quickly collected the extra coin and looked back up to him, but he was already gone.

.xXȮXx.

A few days later, the same curt tone startled me out of a daydream. He wanted black ink this time. I wrapped three bottles in a scrap of cloth for him.

"You gave me too many. I only want two." He tried to hand the third bottle back to me, but I shook my head.

"You paid too much last time," I said, smiling.

He frowned at me for a long moment before answering. "I am surprised you would not just keep the extra money and not speak of it."

I shrugged. "I do not think it fair to take more than what is mine."

He grimaced. "I do not want your pity."

"Nor do I want your charity," I replied, my tone harsher than it should be when speaking to a man. I bit the inside of my cheek while he arched an eyebrow.

"You have a sharp tongue," he said. I was surprised that he did not sound mad. At least, he did not sound any more mad that he had sounded before.

"I have been told," I said in a quieter tone. I should have also lowered my gaze, but I decided not to.

His dark eyes did not leave mine, but they held no challenge.

"Fine. I will take a third bottle, but do you have green? Or blue?"

I had both, but he chose the green and left without another word.

When I added the money he had given me to my pouch, I found that he had dropped in an extra coin while I was re-wrapping the bottles. He had overpaid again.

.xXȮXx.

It was over a week before I saw him again. It was early morning and many of the other merchants had not yet set up their wares. I almost did not notice him, sitting on a bench at the edge of the market, eating dried apricots from a small pouch in his lap.

It was the first time I noticed that he only had one arm. How I missed this before, I had no idea.

It was also the first time that I noticed that he was quite handsome. Perhaps I only noticed because he was not frowning this time. His features were sharp, angular, and strong. He seemed different than the pudgy merchants and soft men I was accustomed to seeing in the market.

Then he noticed me watching him, and he did frown. I smiled in response, although I knew better than to actually approach him. Instead, I turned back to my own wares and began to unpack for the day.

The man with one arm was my first customer.

"You overpaid again," I stated, before he could even tell me what he wanted.

He ignored my statement and asked for more red ink.

"Are you a scholar?" I asked as I wrapped his purchase in a scrap of fabric.

"Galila!" Hamid snapped at me. "Do not be nosy."

I bit my tongue to keep from snapping back. I had not noticed the other merchant was nearby. Though Hamid gave me a room to sleep in and a small space in the market next to him, I tried to avoid him as much as possible. Sometimes this was difficult.

The man with one arm scowled, whether at my question or at Hamid, I could not be sure.

He did not over pay this time.

.xXȮXx.

For months, the man with one arm came every few days to purchase a new bottle of ink or quills or rolls of blank parchment. I always tried to smile, hoping he might one day smile in return. We rarely spoke beyond what was needed for his purchases. Then one rainy afternoon, I had set up in the market without Hamid.

"Your husband sends you in the rain and does not come himself?"

At first, I did not know what he meant, so I answered simply, "I am a widow."

"I apologize," he muttered. "I assumed that you were married to the man who sells next to you."

I shook my head, realizing he was referring to Hamid. "Hamid is not my husband," I said, wrapping his purchases. "He just intrudes sometimes."

He actually intruded all of the time and I hated it, but I did not want to speak ill of him to a stranger. If it got back to Hamid, he would be angry.

"Farqad, in the lower market, his inks are cheaper than yours," the man said

"You are welcome to purchase from him," I shrugged and tied a string around his package.

"You are nicer than Farqad."

At that, I glanced up. After a heartbeat of shock at the kind words from the normally taciturn man, I snorted and answered, "That would be a compliment if Farqad did not have the personality of a rotten melon."

"You do have a sharp tongue," he chuckled. I found myself blushing at the smile he gave me.

.xXȮXx.

I began to notice a pattern in the man's purchases. He came on certain days for certain things. I never did figure out what he did with the inks and quills though. Scholar or artist or something else entirely. I would occasionally offer him other colors, orange or brown or purple. Mostly though, he stuck with red and black and the occasional green.

He did not smile again. Usually, he was frowning. Sometimes, his face was just blank. He did not seem much older than me, and I wondered what could make a young man so unhappy. I never saw him with anyone else. Maybe he was just lonely. Maybe he was as alone as I was. With this in mind, I tried to always smile when I saw him, and I made an effort to be friendly.

"May I ask your name, sir?"

Before the man could respond, Hamid appeared behind him with a fierce scowl.

"Galila!" He spat. "You never learn your place." To the man buying my inks, he apologized and explained that my husband had let me run wild for too long and that I had not been taught to respect men as I should. He ended with, "I would not have taken her in if I did not owe her husband a favor. She would have been better off in a brothel where they expect such forward behavior."

I dropped my head and held my tongue and let Hamid have his rant. Trying to defend myself would only make him angrier. When he was done, the man simply nodded and took his purchase. If he looked my way, I did not see it. Hamid, however, turned to me.

"What are you thinking? Asking such familiar questions of a customer?"

"I was thinking I would like to be able to greet him should I see him outside of the market one day," I said stubbornly.

Hamid narrowed his eyes at me. "You are too old and too ugly to remarry, Galila." Then he let out a laugh, "Ah, but perhaps a cripple like him would take in an ill-mannered woman like you."

"How dare you!" I gasped, horrified at the insult. "Speak of me what you will, but do not insult that man for his circumstance."

"How dare _I_?" Hamid stepped closer to me. "How dare _you._ You have no right to speak to me that way."

"I have every right," I hissed. Before I could defend the stranger any further, the back of Hamid's hand slammed into my cheek.

I had forgotten that he had left early to meet with some of the other merchants, and I noticed the wine on his breath too late.

Hamid said nothing else, just glared at me for a long moment before stalking away. I held my hand to my cheek, pressing down to try to get rid of the sting. When I pulled my hand away, I noticed a spot of blood. He had split my lip this time.

I decided it was a good day to close early.

.xXȮXx.

The next morning, I wore a full head covering, leaving only my eyes visible. I had become accustomed to covering my hair to blend in with the other women, but I did not like covering the rest of my face. However, more than disliking having my face covered, I despised having visible evidence of Hamid's treatment of me.

It happened more than I would have liked to admit. I learned quickly that Hamid had a temper when drinking. Most of the time, I was able to refrain from making him that angry. If it were easier to find another market or another room to sleep in, I would leave Hamid's side in an instant. We were not married, we had no formal connection whatsoever. However, Farqad sold the same wares as mine in the other market, and since he cut his inks with inferior materials, he had lower prices. I could never survive there, and few homes would take in a widow with so little income.

I was stuck.

I had not even made it to the marketplace yet when that thought struck me. The thought made my chest ache. I sat on a stone bench with my small crate of supplies next to me and debated even opening for the day. Though I knew the bruise would still be there tomorrow.

Most people did not care that a man had hit a woman. It was not often spoken of, but most accepted it as the way things were. Even though Hamid was not my husband, I received little sympathy, least of all from Hamid's wife. It made me miss my husband, who never laid a hand on me in anger. Of course, he never laid a hand on me lovingly either, but such was the nature of our arrangement. We were friends, by the time he died, and it was times like these that I missed that friendship.

"Why do you cover your face today?"

I was startled out of my thoughts by the man with one arm. I ignored his question, unable to give a sincere answer, and instead, I opened my crate and pulled out a bottle of red ink, the one I knew he was needing to replace today.

Holding the bottle out, I said, "I will not be opening today. You may pay me in three days when you come for your black inks."

He frowned. "How did you know I needed red?"

"You always ask for red on the third day. And two black and a half dozen quills at the end of the week."

He seemed almost amused when he asked, "What about green?"

I shook my head, "I have not seen a pattern for green yet."

I watched his hand take the ink from mine, but I did not look up at him.

"You trust me to pay you in three days?" He asked.

"I do," I answered. "And if my trust is misplaced, then that is my fault."

For a moment, he said nothing and did not move. I wondered if he was waiting for something else from me, so I raised my eyes enough to see his face.

"Why do you cover your face today when you do not usually?"

I sighed and dropped my gaze again. "I am unwell," I lied.

"I see," he replied. "Is that also why you are sitting here and not selling in the market?"

"Yes." I nodded.

There was another pause before he said, "My name is Malik, by the way." He paused again and added, almost softly, "I was not offended that you asked."

I looked up at him. His eyes seemed to smile, though his lips had not moved. "Thank you, Malik."

"May I ask your name in return?"

"Galila." I smiled. On remembering that my face was covered and he could not see my smile, I dropped my gaze once more.

"Well, Galila," he said. "I will see you in three days."

I watched him turn and walk away, waiting until he was out of hearing range before whispering to myself, "I hope so."

.xXȮXx.

Malik did come as usual. I had his two bottles of black ink and six quills already wrapped up. I tried to ignore Hamid's glare when I handed the package over silently.

"You are feeling better?" Malik asked. His voice was so low, I looked up to make sure I had heard correctly. I nodded, and he asked, "But you still hide your face?" I realized then that he was trying to speak quietly enough to avoid Hamid's watchful eye.

I did not know how else to answer, so I just nodded again.

I recoiled reflexively when Hamid snorted. "Ah, she is finally learning respect and silence."

I did not miss the look Malik gave Hamid, or the look he then gave me. His eyes were dark, his eyebrows were drawn low, and his frown lines were deeper than usual. It was a frightening look.

That afternoon, when I packed up my things, Malik was waiting for me at the bench where I had seen him before. Remembering the dark look on his face from earlier, I tried to just walk by.

"Galila," he called to me. I sighed and looked his way. He gestured with his one arm for me to sit with him. I walked towards him but did not sit.

"Hello, Malik. Did you need more quills?"

"No," he said. "I wanted to speak with you though."

"Oh?" I said, feigning a lightness I did not feel. "Not about Farqad's lower prices again, I hope."

He looked at me for a moment before shaking his head. "Will you sit with me? Or would you prefer to walk?"

I glanced around and considered my options. "I will sit with you. But I should not stay long, or Hamid will grow suspicious."

"But he is not your husband," Malik observed while I set my small crate down and sat next to him.

"He is not," I confirmed. "But I live in his home and try to obey his wishes. Which includes not staying out late."

"Did he tell you to cover your face?"

"No," I said slowly. "I chose to."

"Why?"

"Why does it matter?"

He seemed to hesitate before answering.

"I walk farther and pay more for your inks because you are nicer. You smile at me. And I cannot see your smile when you are covered."

"Oh." I looked away, surprised and embarrassed by his confession.

"Did he hit you?"

I looked up at him with wide eyes. "How did you know?" I whispered.

"Today, when he spoke, you flinched. Every time he got close to you, you moved away."

"You were watching me?"

He nodded. Then slowly reached a hand out to my scarf. "May I?"

I could only stare at him. I knew I should say no. I knew I should look around the small street to make sure no one was watching. I did neither of these things, too shocked by the conversation to speak.

Malik took my silence as compliance and gently tugged the scarf away.

I watched emotions flash in his eyes, surprise and sadness and anger. His hand hovered next to my face, like he was unsure of what to do next.

I knew my bruise was healing, but I knew it was still clearly visible on my skin.

"Why?" He asked finally, touching the corner of my mouth lightly with one finger, just next to where my lip had split.

I turned away quickly and replaced the scarf, my heart beating erratically.

"Why?" He repeated. I could hear the anger in his voice, more than his usual severity.

I looked at my lap. I did not understand his concern or his anger, so I did not know how to answer.

He placed his hand gently on my arm. "Please tell me why, Galila. Was it because of me?"

I shook my head. "No. I spoke in anger. And he was drunk. I know better than to shout at him when he is drunk."

Malik was silent. He removed his hand from my arm, the sudden lack of contact making me shiver.

"Drinking is no excuse. He should not hit an innocent woman."

I sighed. "I owe Hamid much. I am usually better at avoiding his temper." In an effort to shift the conversation to something lighter, I added, "And you have already observed that I have a sharp tongue."

"What did you say to him?" Malik asked. He did not sound amused at my joke.

I shook my head. I did not want to admit what we had been discussing.

"It does not matter," I said, feeling drained by the conversation. "I should go."

I started to stand but he stopped me with a hand to my arm again.

"Please."

It was all he said, but the look in his eyes as he said reminded me of something, some memory. I could not explain why or what it was, but I suddenly wanted to be honest with him and to tell him what happened. I wanted to have a friend who might understand.

I sat back on the bench and looked down at my hands, twisting my fingers together.

"I defended someone," I said carefully. "It was not what I said that angered him, but that I raised my voice to him."

"Who did you defend?"

I did not look up, but I did not need to see his face. I could tell. He knew it was him. He knew.

"You," I whispered. "He called you names after you left."

"He called me cripple," Malik said, his voice flat. When I nodded, he asked, "So he did hit you because of me?"

"No," I said sharply, looking up at him. "He hit me because I shouted. It is not the same."

"But you shouted in my defense, did you not? Or were you shouting for another reason?"

The anger was back in his voice. I shook my head. I did not want him to blame himself for this.

"I shouted because what he said was unfair, that your circumstance somehow makes you less of a man. It does not. I told him he could insult me all he wanted, but that you did not deserve his cruelty."

Malik raised his eyebrows, but he said nothing.

"I should go," I sighed. "I am sorry."

This time, I did not give him a chance to stop me.

.xXȮXx.

My bruising healed, and I stopped wearing the head covering. However, I did not see Malik for a week. I wondered if Hamid's insult had made him stop coming, or if he felt guilty over my injury that he stayed away.

It was the day he would have come for his black ink that another man came with his order.

"Two bottles of black ink and six quills."

I looked up at the familiar order but new voice. The man in front of me was wearing robes similar to Malik's robes, but his were not black. This man was taller than Malik. His complexion was a little lighter, and his eyes were more golden than brown. His frown, however, matched Malik's.

Then again, perhaps the order was a coincidence.

I shook off thoughts of Malik and began counting out quills.

"Will that be all?" I asked, smiling up at the new customer. I heard Hamid snort next to me.

"I am sure he is not interested in _you_, Galila."

I ignored the comment and handed the man his purchase, forcing another smile. Something in the man's face reminded me again of Malik. I watched his eyes follow Hamid instead of looking at me or at the package now in his hands. Then, they quickly darted back to me, and he nodded sharply before turning away.

As the day ended, my thoughts drifted to Malik once again. I was saddened that he had not come and wondered if perhaps something had happened. It was silly to be so concerned over a stranger, but I could not help it. I was startled out of my thoughts when a voice appeared beside me.

"Malik sends his regards."

I spun around, a hand to my chest, to find the man from earlier standing casually next to me.

"Wh-what?" I stammered and glanced around, looking for Hamid.

"Your unfriendly acquaintance is not here," the man said calmly.

When I saw for myself that he was telling the truth, I took a deep breath. Then I looked carefully at the man before me, noticing the swords he had strapped at his waist.

"Who are you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "And what have you done with Malik?"

"And what would you do if I said I had kidnapped him?" He asked, arching one eyebrow.

I frowned. Somehow I knew he was not being serious, but it still made me angry.

"I would ask what you wanted with him, and why you came to tell me about it."

He smirked. "And then what?"

"Then," I said, ignoring his intimidating stature and taking a step towards him, "I would tell you that you are a cruel man for kidnapping a harmless scholar like Malik. And an idiot for thinking you could bully me into helping you."

The man snorted a laugh and shook his head. "I see now why Malik walks so far for his inks."

I ignored his laughter and narrowed my eyes. "You never answered my questions."

He nodded. "My name is Altaïr. And I did nothing with Malik other than convince him to stay in bed and rest. He is ill. He…" Altair frowned then, as if he was considering what to say next.

I interrupted his thoughts. "Is that why I have not seen his this week? Because he is ill?"

Altaïr nodded, and I let out a sigh. "I was worried that he was upset with me."

"No," Altaïr said. "Though he is rather upset with that swine you work with. And from what I saw today, I can see why."

"Why are you here? Surely not just to bring me Malik's regards."

"I was in the area," Altaïr shrugged, as if that explained everything.

"Well," I said, smiling up at him. "I appreciate your efforts. And please tell Malik to rest."

"Ah, good," Altaïr nodded. "I was hoping you would say that. I have a feeling he may actually consider resting if he knows you requested it."

I let myself laugh. "In that case, tell Malik I will be very upset with him if he is not well enough to buy his own inks next time."


	2. Part II

_Up next: Altaïr meddles, Galila knows more than she should, and Malik gets angry. Thank you for reading! ~OhEyal_

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**Part II**

The next day, as I was packing up, I found a note tucked in with my quills. There were directions and a time. It was signed with Altaïr's name.

I frowned and looked around. I had not noticed anyone come by.

That was when I noticed that Hamid was gone. He had packed up early again, which meant he was likely to be drunk when I got home. Meeting Altaïr was probably not a good idea, but I was curious what he wanted and concerned about Malik. Plus, the rebellious streak in me did not want to let Hamid's temper make decisions for me. I hid my crate in a pile of hay near the back door of Hamid's home and followed the directions on the note.

I was early. I sat on a small bench, leaned my head back on the wall behind me, and closed my eyes to wait. I could not fathom why Altaïr would want to meet with me, unless it was about Malik. I wondered how ill he was.

"Galila?" I opened my eyes and saw Malik standing in front of me. "What are you doing here?"

I smiled. "Hello, Malik. I was here to meet Altaïr."

"Altaïr?" Malik scowled as he said the name. I wondered if I had made a mistake and if Altaïr was not actually a friend. Before I could ask, however, Malik continued, "He left for Damascus this morning."

"Oh." I frowned. "But he left me a note to meet here. I do not understand."

Malik shook his head and mumbled something that sounded like "stupid Novice." To me, he said, "I think we have been set up."

"What do you mean?"

Malik sat next to me and sighed. "Altaïr knew I would be walking to the market to get food this evening. I always walk this way."

"You are still ill," I observed. "Why would you walk to the market for food?"

"Because Altaïr took the last of my food when he left."

I smiled. "We have been set up then."

"Well," Malik sighed. "Would you care to join me? I can only assume that was Altaïr's intention."

"I have a better idea," I grinned. "If you rest here, I will get us both food. You should not be walking so far anyway. I can tell you do not feel well."

Malik frowned. "I am fine."

"Do not be stubborn, Malik." I shook my head.

"I am fine," he repeated.

"You are pale," I answered.

He stared at me for a moment, and I smiled in return.

"Fine," he sighed and handed me a pouch. "I will wait here."

"What would you like?"

He leaned his head against the wall like I had been doing and waved his hand in the air. "Anything."

I considered the prepared foods, which are probably what he would have bought, but decided instead to get ingredients to cook. Hopefully he would let me use his kitchen and cook for him. Lentil soup was always good for illness.

When I returned, he eyed me warily. "You want to cook? In my home?"

"Oh." I stared at him with wide eyes as I realized what I had one. I shook my head quickly. "I am sorry, Malik. I should not have assumed."

"It is fine," he sighed, standing. "Come."

I followed him a short distance to a narrow doorway. He opened it, letting me into a small room. Beyond that was a larger room that opened to a garden. There was small kitchen in the corner, but the space was taken up mostly by a large set of bookshelves and a counter obviously used as workspace.

"You make maps," I said when I saw what was spread out on the counter.

"I do," he nodded. Then he gestured to the kitchen. "What shall I do?"

"You," I pointed at him, "sit and rest. Please, let me do this."

He did not argue with me.

As I turned to the kitchen, I spoke, partly to fill the slightly awkward space between us.

"I have wondered what you used the inks for. I assumed you were a scholar. I suppose I was close."

He nodded. "I would have told you had you asked."

"I tried to ask once. Hamid interrupted, I think."

"Tell me something, Galila. Why do you work with him? You said you owe him, but I do not understand."

I sighed and focused on chopping garlic and carrots to add to the lentils I was preparing, giving myself a few minutes to think of the safest version of the story to tell.

"I told you I was a widow?"

"Yes."

"When my husband died, I had little…his family would not let me stay with them. They…did not like me. Hamid used to buy and resell the inks I made. I do not know why, but he was willing to let me stay in his home and sell my inks for a portion of my profits."

"A fair portion?"

"No," I laughed bitterly, stirring the now simmering soup. "But I have a roof to sleep under and a job that allows me to make friends like you. If I may call you friend."

"You may."

I smiled over at him. He was listening, but I could tell by his slouched posture that he was tired. I was about to say something about him needing tea or rest when I noticed the symbol painted on the wall behind him.

"You are an Assassin," I said suddenly.

Malik stood and stiffened.

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I quickly held my hands up. "I am no enemy, I swear it."

"How do you know that?" He asked, his voice sounding colder than I had ever heard it.

I pointed at the symbol on the wall. "I know the symbol, and I know the stories. You fight the Templars."

"What do you know?" Malik had not relaxed.

I shook my head. "Please, Malik. I mean you and your brothers no harm. You need to rest. Sit, and I will tell you my story. My real story."

When he did not move, I sighed and repeated, "Please, Malik."

He sat again, but I could tell he was not relaxed. The only way forward was to be honest. I stirred the soup again, took a deep breath, and began my tale.

"My real name is not Galila. That is just the Arabic name I chose when I came here and needed to…blend in. I was born Gilah."

"That is Hebrew," Malik interrupted. He was frowning now, and I hoped that I had not already ruined the friendship he had only just agreed we had.

"It is. I was a Jew."

"What do you mean you 'were' a Jew? How can you change something like that?"

"By believing it," I said with a shrug. "And by knowing it is the safest way for me to live. It is hard to exist in this space between two lives. I was once the wife of a man who treated me fairly, and now I am the servant of a man who hates my existence. Where I once was allowed to educate myself, I now must keep my thoughts to myself. We can change who we are when life requires it of us."

"I understand."

I looked up from the soup and raised my eyebrows at him. I was surprised at his response.

"Do you?" I asked.

"I have not always had only one arm." He grimaced and gestured at his empty sleeve.

"You have only one arm?" I smiled. "I had not noticed."

He shook his head, but I saw a faint smile there.

"So," I continued. "I was born Gilah and raised as a Jew, where women were taught to read and write and were allowed to attend lectures and take on jobs. It is quite different than Muslim women or Christian women, but it is also not safe to be a Jew everywhere. Sometimes not even Jerusalem."

Malik nodded in understanding, and I went on. I focused my attention on the food over the fire but watched Malik's reactions from the corner of my eye.

"My father was a smart man. A good man. He was killed by a Templar guard when he stepped in to help a man escape. My father's brother agreed to take my mother and me in. For a while, it was fine, but my uncle made a mistake with his business dealings and borrowed money from the wrong people. He…he sold my mother and I to pay off his debts."

Malik was scowling next to me, his eyes dark and full of disapproval.

"My mother was killed within the year, beaten to death by the man who bought her. I was lucky. I chose an Arabic name because I thought it would help. I pretended to be something I was not, and the man who bought me decided to give me to his youngest son as a wife. Nasir was kind. Not at all how his father wanted him to be. He wanted the marriage no more than I did, but we came to an agreement. He would allow me to read at home and to learn a trade if I kept quiet about his…distaste for women."

"His distaste for…oh. I see." Malik had gone from looking angry to looking confused to looking more bewildered than anything else.

"Yes." I smiled. "Nasir was good to me, and we became friends. For three years, we were content. But his father grew angry that I did not produce a son, and Nasir died defending me."

"His father killed him?" His scowl had returned.

"He had him executed. And threw me out. And this is how I am here, in Jerusalem, making and selling inks for Hamid in exchange for a room to sleep in." I shook my head and turned away from the soup to face him.

"But you wanted to know how I knew of the Assassins. After my father died, my mother told me of the Assassins. She told me a story of being cornered and harassed by guards and of being rescued by a man in white. She promised that man that her family would always aid him, and this is what my father did. I understood little of what the Assassins stood for until I came here to live with Nasir. My former father-in-law was a Templar. He forgot, sometimes, that I could read and left documents out. This is how I learned of the Templars and the Assassins and what they fight for. I already despised my father-in-law and the things that he did, and this knowledge only made my hatred of him stronger."

I shrugged then, realizing I had just admitted to snooping in my father-in-law's business. Although that was the least concerning part to my story.

"I cannot be sure," I said, lowering my gaze to the floor, "but I think the man who my father died assisting may have been an Assassin. If this is true, I believe he died an honorable death, aiding a man who fights for the free will of the people. I would not betray the Order my father aided, and I would not betray you."

I could not say anything else to prove I could be trusted. All that was left was whether or not Malik was I upset that I had been dishonest and hid who I was. I glanced up at him and watched his face remain angry, I knew that I had destroyed my one and only real friendship.

"Well," I sighed, putting a lid over the soup. "Let this cook a little longer. Half an hour should be enough. And, for what it is worth, I am sorry I could not be honest with you before. No one in Jerusalem knows who I really am."

I crossed the room with the intention of leaving and with the assumption I would not see Malik again.

Malik did not stop me.

.xXȮXx.

As I walked home that evening, my thoughts were preoccupied with the knowledge that Malik was an Assassin and my fear that I had ruined a new and fragile friendship. My distress at Malik's home had clouded my memory, and I did not remember that Hamid had gone drinking. I did not remember that I would need to sneak in rather than walking through the front door. Hamid was not happy that I had been out so late.

He accused me of many things that night, and he did not just hit me once. He shoved and kicked this time as well. He was kind enough, if you could call it that, to not hit my face. I would not need to cover my face.

The only reason I went to the market and opened my stall the next morning was because I was angry and did not want to let Hamid know he had that much power over me. The entire morning, his eyes were on me, as though he were just waiting for me to make a mistake to justify hitting me again.

By the time Malik showed up at my stall, I was nearly shaking.

"Red ink," he said. He still did not look completely healthy, but I was afraid to comment on that. I quietly wrapped the small bottle in fabric and handed it over. That is when I noticed I was no longer nearly shaking but actually shaking.

Malik noticed, too.

"Galila," he said quietly, taking the bottle from my hand. "You need not be afraid of me."

"I am not afraid of you," I answered, hiding my trembling hand in the folds of my kamiz.

He frowned but said nothing else. I turned away from him, but I turned too quickly. I gasped at the sharp pain in my side, having to brace myself on the counter in front of me to breathe.

"Galila," Malik said. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," I snapped. "I am fine."

I heard Hamid laugh beside me, and Malik disappeared.

.xXȮXx.

There was another note in my quills that evening. It was from Malik this time, asking me to meet him. I waited for Hamid to pack up and leave, packing my own things slowly. Even after he had gone and my crate was sealed up again, I sat at the edge of the market for a long time trying to decide what to do. Coming home late again would only cause more problems, but I had a feeling it would be a bad idea to not talk to Malik. If he was concerned about trusting me, avoiding him would be worse than anything Hamid would do. I did not want him to think I was an enemy of his Order. I could sneak into my window like I should have the night before. I would not forget this time.

With a sigh, I hid my crate again and slowly made my way towards the lower market near Malik's home.

"Galila." Malik greeted me from the same bench we had met at the evening before.

"Malik." I replied, not bothering to hide how tired I was. I carefully sat on the bench next to him.

"I was not sure you would come," he said quietly.

"I was not sure I should," I confessed.

After a few moments of silence, Malik spoke again. "Are you not feeling well? I hope my illness is not contagious."

"I am not ill," I said. "Why did you want to meet with me? I do not have much time. If Hamid catches me, he will be angry again."

"He was angry with you last night?" Malik turned sharply to me.

I stared intently at my hands and did not respond. I would not lie, but I did not want to admit what had happened.

"Gilah," he said, his voice quiet again. My heart stuttered at hearing my real name come from him. When I looked up at him, there were tears in my eyes.

"He was drunk last night," I admitted. "And I was too upset when I left you that I forgot to sneak into my window. I went right through the front door."

Malik put his hand on mine. I am sure it was meant to be reassuring, but it startled me. I jerked my arm away and hissed at the sharp pain in my side when I moved.

Malik's eyes went wide when he realized.

"You are hurt," he said, his voice nearly a growl. "He hit you again."

I did not want to cry, but the tears were already there. That was enough of an admission for him.

"Come," he said, standing quickly. "Do not argue."

"I cannot," I whispered, looking up at him.

"You can," he said, gesturing with his hand. "And you will."

While his tone was firm, I saw concern in his eyes. He would have let me say no, and it was that knowledge that led me to stand and let him lead me to his home again.

"Gilah," he said softly. "Let me see what he did to you."

I shook my head.

"Stubborn woman," Malik sighed. "You met Altaïr, yes?" When I nodded, he said, "Would you like to know how many times I have had to bandage him? Sew up cuts and set broken bones? This is something I do. More than stupid maps." He gestured at the half-drawn map currently on the counter.

I nodded slowly. "Could…could you turn your back first?" I asked. He stiffened, like he just realized what he was asking of me, and spun quickly around.

I carefully unwrapped the shawl I used to cover my hair and wrap myself. Then I removed my outer kamiz, folding them both neatly and setting them on the chair. I hesitated before pulling my under tunic over my head, holding it tightly to my chest but leaving my back and sides exposed. I took a deep breath both to try to steady my nerves and to push back the pain that the movement had caused.

"You may look now," I said, my voice came out shaky. No man but Nasir had seen me so exposed, and even that had been an accident.

I heard Malik make a strained noise, somewhere between a cough and a choking sound.

"What did he do to you?" He whispered. I closed my eyes and tried again to calm myself.

"Gilah," Malik said softly. "You have many bruises here. I would like to check your ribs, to see that they are not broken. But I will have to touch you. And it may hurt."

"Go ahead," I said as steadily as I could.

I could not stop the shiver that ran up my spine when I felt his fingers on my skin.

"I am sorry," he said. I could not tell him that this reaction was not from pain but from simply being touched.

The pain came a moment later when he put pressure on my side. I clenched my teeth and tried to stay quiet. It was the same spot that the sharp pain had come from whenever I moved to fast or breathed to deep.

"Your ribs are broken," Malik said, his voice strangely flat. "Do not move. I will get a salve and bandages."

I waited patiently for him, keeping my eyes closed, breathing as steadily as I could.

"I am sorry," he repeated when he returned. "I should not have let you go last night. Not after the conversation we had. This will be cold." He began spreading a thick substance on my side, bringing goose bumps to my skin. It smelled faintly of mint and some other foreign spice I could not identify.

"It is not your fault, Malik," I said. "I was not honest with you."

"You did not lie to me," he said. "We had hardly spoken about our lives before last night. And even still, I understand why you would keep those stories to yourself. Your name and where you are from." He wiped his hands off on a piece of cloth and held up a piece of clean, white linen. "I will need your help with this," he said. "Hold this end in place." I did as I was told and felt him reach his arm around me. "Now take this side and pass it back to me." We repeated this process a few times before he tucked the end in. "You may dress again. I am sorry for this."

I listened for him to take a few steps away before carefully pulling the under tunic back over my head, noting the newly restricted movement the bandages left me. I pulled the kamiz on as well, but I did not bother with the shawl. There seemed no point now that Malik had already seen me.

"Please stop apologizing, Malik. This is not your doing."

"We will agree to disagree then," he nodded.

I sighed and sat in the chair, pulling my now loose hair to one side and braiding it loosely. Malik watched me but said nothing. As I finished, I noticed there was already a faint numbness in my side where he had applied the salve. It made breathing easier.

"What was it you wanted to talk about? Before this," I asked finally.

"The Assassins," he said leaning on the counter.

"Is it bad that I know of them?" I looked down at my hands.

"No," he said. "Last night, I was not so sure. I am not used to being in this position. As I told you, I did not always have only one arm. I have only been a Dai for a few months. It is…a different way than how I was trained. I am not used to considering outsiders as allies, but as a Dai, I must."

I nodded, even though I was not sure I understood. I did not want to ask though, as I could tell he did not want to talk about his arm.

"I wanted to ask if you would be willing to assist us, like your father did," he continued. "I believe you would make a useful informant. I assume you hear much in the marketplace, and you already know of us and of what we fight for. It seemed…a logical step." He paused and looked down at the counter for a moment before adding, "And I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night."

For a moment, I remained silent. I considered his offer to be an informant. He was right. I did hear much in the marketplace. I could probably hear more if I tried.

Malik spoke again before I could tell him that.

"I am more concerned now with Hamid however."

I looked up to see him stand straight and cross the room to me. He knelt before me and looked me in the eye.

"I want you to stay here tonight. I do not want to risk him hurting you again."

"I cannot stay here." I spluttered. "It is inappropriate."

"No," Malik said, shaking his head. "It is not. You will have your own room. You will be safe. And tomorrow, I will take you back and tell Hamid that you were attacked by a thief and that I bandaged you and brought you home. Then he cannot be upset that you did not come home."

I shook my head. Hamid's temper was not exactly logical all the time. He would still blame me for that.

"He will still be angry," I said. "He will assume things about us."

"But I will not touch you," Malik said, but then he stopped suddenly and frowned. "Not more than I already have. But I only did that because I had to. Not that I would not want to. Not that I _do_ want to. I do not mean I—just that—"And he snapped his mouth shut, his cheeks burning red.

I shook my head, unable to keep back a smile at his sudden embarrassment.

"Malik, I understand." I looked down at my hands, growing sad again, and said, "But Hamid will not."

Malik scowled and stood again. He began pacing in front of me.

"Does he own you?"

"What?" I gasped. "No."

"Is he your husband?"

"No," I shook my head.

"And he is not your father or brother or cousin?"

"No, Malik. You know this."

"And what concern does your landlord have over where you spend your time?"

I sighed. "None. But—"

"But nothing." Malik stopped pacing and looked down at me. "He has no right to treat you the way he does. You do not deserve it, and I will not stand for it."

"And what will you do?" I scoffed. "Shout at him? Make him promise to leave me be? And you think that will work?"

"I am an Assassin," Malik said, and I heard the threat in his voice.

"But Hamid is innocent." I shook my head. "You cannot take his life. Not over me. Not over this."

"Innocent may mean something different to you than to me," he said, but he shook his head. "You are right though. Come, we should eat something."

I watched him walk towards the kitchen, and I saw the tension in his shoulders. I understood that he was trying to protect me, and deep down, I knew he was right about Hamid. With a sigh, I made my decision.

"Malik," I said, following after him and placing a hand on his arm. "I will stay tonight, if it will put your mind at ease."

He held my gaze for a moment then nodded. "I will sleep in the garden. You may have my room."


	3. Part III

_Based on the oh-so-helpful guidance of Skatjas, I revised a bit in the previous chapter. It's just a small section at the beginning, but if you don't want to reread, here's a quick version of what changed: Galila's father worked as a Vigilante (according to the wiki, Vigilantes are the ones who would grab guards and distract them so Altair could escape). Galila tells Malik that she thinks her father was killed while assisting an Assassin and believes it was an honorable death. That plus her story about her father-in-law being a Templar and how much she hated him is why Malik trusts her enough to talk to her openly about the Order._

_And, for clarification, all of this takes place between Altair's second and third visit to Jerusalem. This is why Altair is meddling (trying to make amends in a way), and Malik is still a little grumbly. I don't remember exactly how much time passes between Altair's visits/targets, so I might be stretching out the timeline a bit in this chapter. _

_Thanks for all the reviews and follows and favorites! _~OhEyal

* * *

**Part III**

I was awoken in the middle of the night by a crash and an arm gripping mine.

"Malik!"

"Altaïr?" I whispered, blinking up at the shadow above me. I stiffened when I felt the cold of a blade at my throat.

"Who are you?"

"Galila," I answered quickly. "From the market."

He dropped the blade from my neck, and I noticed how labored his breathing was.

"Where is Malik?" He asked.

"Sleeping in the gardens." I put my hand on his cheek, feeling for a fever. He flinched away. "Altaïr, what is wrong?"

"I need help," he said and let himself fall back on his backside.

I scrambled out of bed and lit the lantern. That is when I saw the bloodstain on his sleeve and the arrow in his arm.

"I will get Malik," I said, but he grabbed the edge of my sarwal and stopped me.

"No." He shook his head. "Let him sleep. You can help me."

I hesitated, eyeing the arrow in his arm then nodded. Malik needed his rest, and I now knew where the bandages were.

As quietly and quickly as I could, I grabbed them and returned to Altaïr's side.

"Tell me what to do." I was surprised at how calm my voice was and how steady my hands were, despite having no idea what I was doing.

"Break off the end of the arrow," Altaïr said through a clenched jaw. "Then pull it through the other way, and put the bandage on tightly to stop the bleeding. Malik can sew it up in the morning."

I looked at the arrow carefully. It had gone clear through his arm. He was lucky it had not gotten caught on the bone inside. I wrapped my hands around the feathered end and closed my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I snapped the shaft quickly. Altaïr hissed.

"I am sorry," I whispered. He just shook his head.

"Keep going."

I nodded and handed him one of the bandages. "I will hold one to the back of your arm. You put this one on the front." He nodded in agreement and held his hand near the arrow to be ready. I shifted to position myself better and grabbed the arrow with my left hand. As smoothly and swiftly as I could, I pulled it out and pressed the bandage in my right hand to his arm. Altaïr pressed his bandage to the top of the wound and took three deep breaths.

"It is done," I said, and I replaced his hand with my own. I held the bandages to his arm with both hands wrapped around his upper arm. We sat like that, in silence, for a long time. He had closed his eyes again, like he was meditating.

"Altaïr?" He opened his eyes at my whisper. "I am afraid to let go."

He almost smiled. "It will be fine. I will help you wrap it so you can go back to sleep."

I nodded and, with his help to keep pressure on the wound, managed to wrap a bandage around his arm, tying tightly.

I sat back on my heels and looked at him, his golden eyes flashing in the lantern light.

"Why are you sleeping in Malik's bed?" He tilted his head.

I hoped it was too dark for him to see my blush.

"He bandaged my broken ribs," I said quietly. "And requested that I stay."

"Broken ribs? Why do you have broken ribs?"

"Hamid, the man from the market. He is my landlord—"

"I know who he is," Altaïr said harshly. "Malik was right to have you stay." Then he nodded to the bed and started to stand. "Go back to sleep. I will join Malik in the gardens."

I stood before him and offered an arm to help him up. He hesitated before taking it.

Just as he was about to step out of the room, Malik appeared.

"What are you doing here, Novice?"

"I am not a Novice," Altaïr sighed. It sounded like an old argument.

"Galila," Malik called to me over Altaïr's shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"I am fine, Malik." I answered. "But please check Altaïr's bandage. I am afraid I did not do it right, and I think he is being too nice to tell me."

"Altaïr is never too nice," Malik countered, but turned to Altaïr again. "Show me what you did this time."

I followed them to the main room and sat on the chair, watching as they bickered and Malik sewed up both sides of Altaïr's arm. At Malik's nod, Altaïr told him how a guard shot him with the arrow, and at a look from Altaïr, Malik explained how I knew of the Assassins.

Eventually I gave up on their talk and moved the cushions Malik had abandoned and curled up. They smelled faintly of him, of spices and hashish. I fell asleep there.

.xXȮXx.

When I woke again, Altaïr was sleeping on some of the cushions nearby. Malik must have been inside with someone else because I heard voices. I stretched and sat up, noticing that someone had set my shawl next to me. I quickly unbraided my hair and ran my fingers through it before rewrapping the shawl around myself.

I had just finished adjusting it over my hair when I heard a new voice.

"What's this? The Bureau has its own courtesan now?"

I frowned and looked at the young man who had spoken. He was dressed similarly to Malik and Altaïr, and I knew he must be an Assassin. The way he was looking at me made my skin crawl.

"I am not here for your pleasure," I replied to him coolly and made to walk past him.

He stepped in front of me and grinned. "And why not?"

"Do I look like a courtesan to you?"

He looked me up and down, and I regretted asking.

"You look like a beautiful woman in a place where women do not normally come. So, yes. Why else would you be here?"

I scoffed. "You make assumptions about things you do not know."

I tried to walk past again, and again he stopped me.

"I know that my two hands can give you more pleasure than our Dai's one."

"Novice," Altaïr warned, having woken from our conversation. I held up a hand, stopping Altaïr from saying anymore.

I looked the Novice in the eye and said, "I think your confidence in your ability is likely compensation for something else that is…" I paused and deliberately looked down to his belt and back up before finishing, "lacking."

This time when I tried to walk past him, he let me, too stunned in that moment to stop me. However, I only made it a few steps past. As soon as he realized what I had said, he grabbed my arm and spun me around.

"How dare you?" He shouted, ignoring my gasp at the pain in my side.

Altaïr again stepped towards us, but I regained myself quickly and shouted back.

"How dare _I_? How dare _you._" I realized I was repeating Hamid's words, but I did not care. "You do not know who I am or why I am here, yet you judge me at one glance. Why should I not return the favor?"

"Because you are a woman. You should be more respectful."

"Oh, I should, should I? And what have you done to gain my respect? Surely being born male does not automatically garner you respect. By that logic, I should also respect men like Majd Addin. Is that your belief?"

The Novice stared at me, seething with anger, but he did not respond.

"I think you have won, Galila," Malik said calmly from the doorway.

I looked from the Novice to Malik to Altaïr and took a step back from the Novice.

"Walid," Altaïr said sharply, glowering at the young man. "We used the last of Malik's bandages last night. Go to the market and get more."

The Novice, Walid, nodded quickly and marched to what I now knew was the rooftop entrance.

As soon as he was gone, I turned to Malik. "I am sorry. I should not have spoken like that."

Malik shook his head and let out a small chuckle. "No, Galila. You were right in everything that you said."

"Walid needs to learn a few lessons," Altaïr agreed. Then he tilted his head. "Should I go find him and speak to him?"

Malik arched an eyebrow. "About what? The right way to be arrogant?"

I frowned at the comment. I had thought Malik and Altaïr friends. I watched Altaïr clench his jaw for a moment before saying, "No. About what happens if he lets his arrogance rule his decisions."

Malik looked a little surprised by that response. I had no idea what they were talking about, but Malik just nodded, and Altaïr left.

"Are you angry at Altaïr?" I asked.

Malik snorted. "I have been for a very long time." Then he sighed, and the anger seemed to leave his body with the breath. "I do not know anymore."

I watched Malik run his hand through his hair. I wondered if he had heard the insult Walid had made about his one hand. And then I considered just what Walid was suggesting about _Malik _and me, and I felt myself blush.

"I suppose I should go home."

"Gilah," Malik said, his voice softening the way it always seemed to when he used my real name. "Altaïr made a suggestion that I would like to talk to you about."

"Okay," I said slowly, and waited for Malik to explain. It took him a moment to start.

"You do not make enough money from your wares to live somewhere else, correct?"

"No," I sighed. "Especially not with what Hamid takes from me for using the space in the market."

"But other than that, you have no reason to stay with Hamid?"

I frowned. "No, I suppose I do not."

"Yesterday, when I mentioned you being an informant, what did you think?"

I wondered if he was going to offer to pay me for that work. If I were paid, I could find somewhere else to live. At the same time, I did not feel comfortable taking money from the Order.

"If all it meant was listening to people and telling you what I heard, I think I could do that. But I would not feel right taking money for it, if that is what you mean. I would help your Order however I can. You are the reason my father-in-law no longer lives."

He raised his eyebrows at that, and I sighed. "Majd Addin," I said, knowing the name was enough of an explanation.

He frowned then shook his head and asked, "So you would help the Order?"

When I nodded, he began pacing.

"You make your inks yourself, correct?"

"Yes," I nodded.

"You said you were educated. You can read and write?"

"Of course," I replied.

"And you know Hebrew? You can read and write both Hebrew and Arabic?"

"Yes, and some English." I drew my brows together, becoming more confused with each of his questions. "Malik," I said, stepping towards him. "Just tell me this idea."

He stopped and looked directly at me.

"Would you consider moving into the Bureau and working for us? You can teach me Hebrew, help me with the books, and keep me stocked with inks and quills. And I imagine your knowledge of the city is greater than mine, for I have I only lived here a few months."

I stared at him. "You want me to move in here. With you."

"No," he shook his head sharply. "Not with me. Well with me, but not like that. Although…" He snapped his mouth shut and shook his head again. "It would be a job. In exchange for a safe place to sleep."

I nodded and considered his offer.

"I would not be an Assassin?" I asked. "I do not think I could kill anyone. No matter how much hatred I may hold for them."

"No," Malik said. "Women are not allowed to be Assassins, but some help us in various ways. And Altaïr and I believe that Al Mualim, our master, would approve of you working here." He glanced at the empty sleeve on his left and grimaced. "Especially if you were assisting me."

I frowned and wanted to make sure that my presence would not hurt his pride.

"I will not clean up after you," I said. "And I will cook, but you will help cook. If I am here, I will not play your servant and will expect to be treated fairly."

"Of course, Gilah," he said, smiling at me. "You speak as though you are considering it."

"Serving an Order I respect, living somewhere safe, and having at least some freedom to be myself…yes, I am considering it. I have one condition though."

"And what is that?"

"I want to learn how to defend myself." When he frowned, I clarified, "Not to fight. I do not need to fight with a sword or anything of the sort. Just to defend myself. From men like Hamid."

"If I agree to that, you will agree to stay here?" He arched an eyebrow.

"If you agree to that, I will agree to work for the Order and live in the Bureau," I corrected him. There was a difference, and Malik understood, nodding and smiling again.

"A sharp tongue and a clever mind."

.xXȮXx.

Hamid was not pleased that I moved out and left the market, mostly because he was profiting from my being there. His wife was concerned that I was leaving for different reasons, until she saw Altaïr waiting for me outside the house. Then she cooed and giggled about how handsome he was and how lucky I was to have found a second husband. I decided to let her believe that, knowing I would likely not see her much, if at all. She was content following Hamid's rules and staying out of sight. As soon as I could, I followed Altaïr down the street, my meager belongings in a bag slung over my shoulder.

Altaïr left the next day, leaving Malik and I alone. That only lasted two days before other Assassins began to come. I learned the names of the more frequent visitors, finding that most were respectful of my presence. At first I thought this was because they assumed I was assisting Malik, but I quickly learned that was not the case. I discovered that Malik was well-respected amongst his brothers, and since I had his respect, I had theirs as well.

It was also from these Assassins that I learned bits and pieces of self-defense. Malik kept his word on that, but he said he did not want to teach me himself. He left it to the others to teach me to hit properly and to evade someone's grasp. I was not very strong, but I was assured that emotion would help me should I ever actually need to defend myself.

One of my favorite visitors, an older Turkish Assassin named Yunus, gave me a dagger. He taught me how to hold it and how to hide it under my kamiz. He told me he was once in love with a courtesan, and he learned from her how important it was for women to protect themselves. It was when he told the story of how she was killed that Malik finally agreed to teach me himself. He also began having me climb the walls around the Bureau and to improve my strength.

In addition to meeting and learning from the other Assassins, I also got to watch Malik practice with his swords. Sometimes he practiced alone, going through motions or attacking a dummy I helped him make of straw and spare clothes. One afternoon, I drew a crude likeness of Hamid's face on a scrap of parchment and pinned it to the dummy. I grinned at him when he found it, but he did not seem amused. The dummy was destroyed that night, and I had to build a new one for him.

I also watched him practice with the other Assassins. It was those afternoons that I truly understood what Malik was. He was fierce, and angry, and beautiful.

Yunus caught me watching one day.

"He was a good Assassin," Yunus said quietly. "Before he lost his arm."

"How did it happen?" I asked.

"You do not know?" Yunus looked surprised, but he shook his head. "I am not sure I should be the one to tell you."

I nodded in understanding and returned to watching Malik, with one arm, easily disarm Walid and bring him to his knees.

.xXȮXx.

As the days turned to weeks, Malik and I fell into a routine. I taught him Hebrew, made him inks, and helped him fill in details on his map of Jerusalem. He taught me to play shatranj and how to make salves and bandage wounds. When there were no Assassins in town, we were often quiet, discovering that we both were content to share the same space yet not fill it with words. We learned much about each other's habits. I began to tease him for always forgetting about his tea until it had gone too cold to drink. He, in turn, teased me about my sweet tooth.

I found I was happy, happier than I had been with Nasir. Malik was a good friend and a good companion, even when he was grumpy.

Yunus watched us argue once and told me I was the only person who ever seemed to win against Malik in a verbal match.

I did finally ask Malik about his arm one night.

At first, he just glared at me. When he walked away, I decided not to follow, feeling like I had made a grave mistake. Malik had done so much for me and asked so little in return. I did not want him angry with me.

I let him walk away, and I went to the garden, piled up the cushions, and laid back to look at the stars.

A few minutes later, Malik surprised me by lying down next to me. He left a respectable space between us, but I was still aware that he was near, feeling warmth radiate off of his body and smelling the incense and spices that always lingered around him. I knew now that most of it was from salves he had for pain and injuries.

He told me the story of Solomon's Temple and how Altaïr's arrogance caused him to lose so much.

He did not cry as he spoke, but I did.

When he was done with his story, I reached for his hand, lying still in the space between us, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I have learned that the paths we take are not always our own," I said quietly. "But I am grateful that ours crossed."

When I started to let go of his hand, he stopped me, twisting his fingers between mine.

We lay like that for a long time, holding hands and watching the stars.

.xXȮXx.

I had been living in the Bureau for nearly four months before I saw Hamid again, but when I did, I was unprepared for the effect he would have on me.

He scowled at me and whispered to the man he was walking with. I could feel my heart racing, and I grasped the dagger Yunus had given me, just to make sure it was still there. I tried to walk as calmly as I could across the square, but I could feel Hamid watching me. My anxiety caused me to forget why I had gone to the market in the first place, and I stopped, turned on my heel, and walked swiftly back in the other direction. I heard Hamid's laughter behind me. I am sure he knew I was fleeing because of him.

"I forgot to ask you to get more lemons," Malik said when I landed on the floor of the Bureau.

I did not respond. Once in the safety of the Bureau, I let the panic I had been fighting consume me. I fell to my knees and wrapped my arms around myself.

"Gilah!" Malik called and hurried across the room to me. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

I could feel his hand on me, checking for injuries. His panic broke through my own, and I looked up at him.

"I am fine. Malik, I am not hurt."

He met my eyes, and his hand settled on my cheek.

"What happened?" He repeated. I could hear the strain in his voice.

"Nothing," I said, closing my eyes. "I am just being a stupid woman."

"You are not stupid," he said, rubbing his thumb in a small circle on my cheek. "Tell me what happened."

"Hamid," I said opening my eyes again and looking into his. "I saw Hamid at the market, and he was watching me. And I panicked. All he did as look at me." I shook my head.

"Gilah," he breathed, and he pressed his forehead to mine. "Hamid cannot hurt you. He would not dare touch you in public. And here, here you are safe. I will not let anything happen to you."

"I forgot the lamb," I said. Malik just laughed.

"We will go together. How does that sound?"

I nodded, feeling the point where our foreheads were touching shift as I did. Then I pulled away from him, to look at his eyes again.

"I am sorry, Malik."

"No," he shook his head. "Do not be sorry. I am glad you came home." Then, in one fluid movement, he was on his feet holding his hand out to me. "Come. We need lamb. And lemons."

"And halva?" I asked, taking his hand and letting him pull me up.

"Yes, and halva." He shook his head, but he was smiling.

I wiped the tears from my cheeks, and we walked back to the market side-by-side.

Hamid and his friend were still there. I tensed when I saw them, and Malik whispered to me, "I am here."

That was enough. His voice and his presence at my side was enough for me to lift my chin and walk right past Hamid.

We purchased the lamb and the lemons and had turned back to leave when Malik remembered the halva.

"I am surprised you forgot. It was your idea, after all."

"It is an unnecessary expense, Malik. I do not need it."

"If it will make you smile, perhaps _I_ need it," he chuckled.

I shook my head and stopped in front of the stall that sold the sesame sweets.

Hamid appeared behind us.

"You still have no respect, Galila. You walked right past me without saying hello."

"And you have no place to speak with my wife," Malik stepped between us. I have only seen him look so intimidating a few times.

"Your wife? I had not heard the good news." Hamid's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"And why would we have bothered telling you?" Malik's voice was level, but cold.

"Well, I imagine the celebration was small and frugal." Hamid said with a cruel laugh. "It is a shame you could not find a more…gentle woman to take care of you."

I heard the layered insults there, that we could not afford a proper ceremony, that Malik needed caring for, that Malik could not handle someone less than gentle. I watched Malik's jaw clench, and I whispered his name.

Malik took a step towards Hamid and growled, "I am lucky I found her before you ruined her."

Hamid stared, opening and closing his mouth several times but seeming unable to articulate a quick response. Malik did not wait. He reached behind him for my hand and strode away, pulling me with him.

We walked past the side door to the Bureau, around the corner and down another alley to a stack of crates. When Malik started climbing the crates, I followed. I had always wondered how he got through the rooftop entrance to the Bureau. The crates allowed him to reach the roof without needing two arms. I followed silently, trying to sort out how to respond to the situation the whole time.

When we got to the roof of the Bureau, Malik stopped and ran his hand through his hair.

"I am sorry, Gilah. I should not have spoken such a lie. I should not have brought myself to his level."

"At least you did not stab him."

Malik looked up sharply, and I flashed him a smile to let him know I was teasing and to reassure him that all was well. He let out a huff of air and shook his head before dropping into the Bureau without another word.


End file.
